


𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠

by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch



Series: Domino 🁡 [45]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, College Bright, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Hurt/Comfort, Identity, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Multi, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, Sexual Themes, Surrealism, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, reader-driven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch
Summary: Selecting 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.Read this story at:https://www.thedominostory.com/#lord-of-the-butterfliesThis book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read thePrefaceorIntroduction, please head there first.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Original Character(s)
Series: Domino 🁡 [45]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451
Kudos: 1
Collections: Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts





	𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts), [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Lord of the Butterflies](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685408) by Andrea Gibson. 



> This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the [Preface](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin) or [Introduction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin), please head there first.
> 
> Betaed by the wonderful [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/), [MissScorp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/), and [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/).
> 
> Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:  
>  **— Inspiration:**[Lord of the Butterflies](https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/39656141-lord-of-the-butterflies) \- Andrea Gibson  
>  **— Cover Song:**[Stay With Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pB-5XG-DbAA) \- Sam Smith  
>  **— Assets:**[Butterflies Font](https://www.dafont.com/butterflies.font)
> 
> Brief parts of lines in italics attributed to the original work.

[](https://www.thedominostory.com/images/full/lord-of-the-butterflies.jpg) |   
---|---  
  
Malcolm didn't want the name his mother gave him, so he returned it and chose Bright instead. Tried it on awhile with Gil and Jackie. Changed it by the time he went to college so no one could call him Whitly except his mother every damn time she saw him, dismissive of his growth. Only shared the truth with those closest to him.

He'd traded the truth when Mark shared he was HIV positive after three hours in General Psych. The medical information had rolled so easily off of Mark's tongue in response to, "Why did you choose to major in Psychology?", the ink on that end of freshman year decision still wet, that Malcolm felt he owed a similarly truthful response. They'd spent nearly the full school year together after ending up in the same dorm and having incompatible roommates. The man had heard him scream plenty of times, even knew his med routine — he could at least explain the source of his terrors, night, day, every fucking moment of his life. That his dreams were filled with _bloodbaths and bubbles he poured himself_. That as much as his father was responsible for causing his trauma, he played his own role in inflicting more harm upon himself. That he couldn't get rid of the trauma, so he tried to get rid of himself instead.

Mark was one of the first people Malcolm wanted to take his clothes off for, other than himself. A conscious thought rather than frenzied desperation. A person who wouldn't disappear before the night even closed. A person who understood that if he wasn't up for sex, it didn't mean he wasn't interested — it was as simple as he wasn't up for it.

Over the years, others looked at him like he could say Lepidoptera, and his dick would rise to the occasional adventure. The attraction was fleeting, the promise of the sweet nectar of connection depleted, so he'd flutter to someone else. He found other ways to express his needs, content with being close to a partner as much as if they continued on to have sex. Curled up next to another warm body, kissing every inch, then staring out the window passing the hours of non-sleep. Tried all different kinds of sex, too, curious to explore what was possible.

He has had plenty of sex — necessary on a journey of finding what he truly likes. Necessary to quiet his mind sometimes, close the fun house of Dr. Whitly back into the box The Girl calls from. He's still open to trying new things with the thought that maybe something his partner likes will be something he'll like too. Or maybe it won't, but it'll be a learned experience anyway. With nearly 200,000 species of butterflies, there are endless possibilities to try, all of them pleasurable to some eye.

Like when he got to Quantico and knew no one. He started spending his time outside of work at the library so he could at least read something familiar. Then one day, a shadow blocked his light, and he looked up.

"I'm Luc. _My pronouns haven't been invented ye_ t. You can use they/them for now," a person said, sitting in a small armchair across from him that had been pulled over from the other side of the nook.

"Bright. He/him," Malcolm said, closing his book. He'd thought his reading spot had been undiscovered, as private as he could find in the public space. He must have been imagining things, as pronoun conversations only went that smoothly in his head. Or maybe evolution had _finally_ arrived.

"You come in here every day. Never talk to anyone." The statement was more fact than judgment. Malcolm wondered how long they’d been watching him.

"I don't know anyone." Another fact. Not that he'd exactly tried to change that either. Work - home, work - home, work - work - work didn’t exactly do wonders for his social life.

"You know me now." Luc looked at the cover of Malcolm's book. "What's your interest in Monarch butterflies?"

"Reminds me of home."

"Which is?"

"New York." A very specific house on a very specific block with Gil and Jackie. He realized he should probably call them — he'd let too many days pass.

"I'm a Seattle transplant. Grad student. Internship."

"Government."

"As most are."

Most were not like Luc. As easily as they had passed into his life, they had passed right out of it. A transient existence Malcolm wasn't sure had ever happened. Perhaps he just needed company and his mind had created it for him in a person who exuded more acceptance than the majority of the population. Perhaps he was fragile, his health deteriorating. Perhaps they were a fantasy saved for times between human companionship.

He's out of practice with courtship, bumbling over how to introduce pieces of himself now that he's had more years to worry about the prospect. Dressing his wounds in his finest suits, his pain still bleeds through his pores, turning pinstripe to paisley. Playing out scenarios millions of times in his mind, he most wants to ask for a hug, a chance to curl up next to someone else and look out his arched window while they sleep, _listening to their heart valves closing_. Introduce them to Sunshine. Talk about medium-weight things to free a bit of space in his mind, yet not overburden them. He wonders if these requests are too much, if _he_ is too much for someone else to take on, so he goes home, alone.

Is a solitary life the price of being The Surgeon’s victim? _Survivor_. It’s not the only cost he’s incurred, many of the others a far greater toll. _Penance_. Gabrielle’s voice and his father’s voice can never agree on the terms — _he_ can’t seem to adequately describe himself many days, mired by Dr. Whitly’s far-reaching grasp.

Laying in bed, unable to sleep, sometimes he wonders if it's possible to meet someone who will go with him to meet his father, say goodbye, and never return. Release a whole plume of butterflies from himself to brighten the landscape, passing them on to someone else. Finally go through life without the weight of the man praising, "You're just like your dad." Looking in the mirror and for the first time, truly seeing his own reflection.

The sheets beside him are cold, long abandoned. The delicious scent of fresh coffee wafts from the kitchen, and with one eye cracked, he spots the French press on the counter. With deep longing, he tries to discern whether the person making him breakfast is real or imagined but decides it doesn't matter. Connection is connection.

— ◌◯◌ —

“How can Veronica be charismatic, but no one talks to her?” Dani asks, spouting her frustration to JT between calls. She’s tempted to break into Bright’s candy stash to have something to gnaw on but resists because she knows it’ll be audible through the phone.

“Doesn’t that sound like Dr. Whitly?” JT responds.

“Sounds like something. No one’s particularly heartbroken she’s dead.”

“Also Dr. Whitly.” Dani scowls, so JT addresses her statement instead. “Married to her work?”

“After the first one didn’t work out, I guess. Don’t have to be married to find fulfillment.”

“You know I don’t judge.”

“Sorry.” Dani sighs. “This is frustrating.”

“Her cousin describes her as headstrong. Rambunctious. Wishes her well, but has no interest in claiming her body,” JT shares.

“That was next of kin?” Dani asks. JT nods. “How does something go so wrong that your family can’t even look out for you in death? Is that what money does? You and I might yell a bit, get pissed off at each other, but I’m always gonna be there.”

“Someone’s gotta start the roast at your funeral.”

“Or the party at yours.”

“Tally’ll take care of that. You can have first whack at the piñata.”

They both go silent, seemingly realizing at the same time they’re too close to needing to do that for Bright for comfort. A flash of imagining the Whitly family gathered in a funeral home crosses her mind, then wavers as she can’t place whether there would be a lot of people or no people. Their whole team would be there, his mother… would his sister or father be able to make such an occasion? Would they make an exception for that sort of thing? Would Malcolm want them to? For his sister, of course, but his father…

“Let’s keep calling,” JT says, pulling her attention back. “Best thing we can do right now is figure this out.”

“If he’s dying, we should be sitting with him. This doesn’t matter,” she argues. The need to work on the case and the desire to go see Bright have been clashing since he was taken away from the scene in an ambulance.

“But maybe he’s not and Gil just doesn’t have an update yet. Maybe if we figure this out, they could give him better treatment.”

“Odds are any information we gather will not impact his treatment.”

“I was trying to be positive.”

“I’m being realistic.” She crosses her arms over her stomach.

“If we’re being real, we don’t know what’s going on, and we shouldn’t assume. We need to wait to hear from Gil.”

“I’m calling him.”

“Dani — “

“I can’t wait anymore. I’ll finish my share of the list when I get back, but team comes first.” She walks away, going into Gil’s office and shutting the door to make the call.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Head back to the [Bookshelf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin) to pick another book. :)


End file.
